


Cry

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: Requests, drabbles, short stories [34]
Category: A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia (1990), Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, PTSD, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: Lawrence returns from Deraa.Set in the "My Soul and Yours" universe. This can be treated as a missing scene.Written for this drabble challenge: https://jaclynhyde.tumblr.com/post/102205666083/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-promptThe prompt was: Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]Feel free to hit me up in the comments if you have a request.
Relationships: implied Feisal/Lawrence
Series: Requests, drabbles, short stories [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1391215
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Cry

**Author's Note:**

> For Christina_Marie who requested "call me".

The first thing Ali notices when Lawrence stumbles into Azrak is his clothes. They're mismatched, too big and definitely not the ones he'd left in two days earlier.

The second thing Ali notices is the man's demeanour, the fake smile plastered to his face, the tightness not just in his shoulders but in his entire body.

Then Ali notices the bruise. It's large, covering most of the Englishman's left cheek, purple, blue and black. It's oddly shaped, like the sole of a shoe.

When Ali asks him about it Lawrence laughs, a forced, shrill sound.

"It's nothing." Lawrence says. "It's nothing. Just a case of mistaken identity. It's nothing. Really."

Ali is not convinced. 

Lawrence sits awkwardly, sideways, careful not to lean against anything. He wraps himself tightly in the black cloak he returned in. He flinches violently when Ali touches his shoulder.

Lawrence stares at the wall with empty eyes, looking but not seeing, perfectly still, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. He hasn't moved or spoken in hours. His food lies before him, untouched.

"Rest." Says Ali. "You need it."

Lawrence nods meekly but doesn't lie down.

"No... no, no... please... No... FEISAL!"

Ali sits up, suddenly awakened, one hand already on his rifle. It takes him a moment to realise that there is no threat.

"Feisal...Oh God no, please, help... Feisal..." Lawrence sobs, twitching and writhing on the ground. Ali touches him tentatively, mindful of his earlier reaction. He feels hot, like he's burning up. 

Lawrence lunges forward, eyes wide open but unfocused, terrified and full of tears. 

"What is it?" Ali whispers, placing a comforting hand on Lawrence's back. The man flinches and gasps, instantly rigid.

Ali removes his hand, now strangely wet, and rests it on his knee, looks down. His insides go cold.

"Are you hurt?" Ali asks, dreading the answer.

Lawrence shakes his head, then nods. He's trembling.

"Let me help you clean it. Wouldn't want you to get a fever, I'll never hear the end of it if something happens to you." Ali tries to joke.

"No." Lawrence whispers. "Don't. I'm... unclean."

"Nonsense." Ali scoffs. "If we don't tend to your wound it will fester, make you ill and then kill you. And then Feisal's going to kill me for letting you die. We can't have that now, can we?"

Defeated, Lawrence scrambles to his feet and sheds his cloak. He struggles for a minute with the thawb, obviously made for a much taller, broader man. Finally, having discarded the robe, he turns around, head hung in shame and Ali can't suppress his gasp of horror.

Lawrence's back is covered in angry, bleeding welts. Whip marks, Ali realises, tens of them, maybe hundreds. Some of the welts curl around his shoulders and sides. There's blood on his sirwal too, not just where the waistband touches the wounds but lower too, long, thin dribbles of red coursing down the insides of his thighs.

"Oh God." Ali whispers. He's heard things. Gossip. Stories told by the Turkish privates he and Lawrence had captured. Stories of officers forcing themselves on their subordinates, using them to satisfy their darkest, most perverse desires. He'd always thought them exaggerated. 

Until tonight.

Suddenly the initial shock dissipates, almost immediately replaced by rage. If he could Ali would go into Deraa right now, this very minute, find the men who tortured Lawrence and rip their throats out with his bare teeth. He can't even begin to imagine what Feisal's going to say when he finds out.

Ali's going to have to tell Feisal something. He doesn't know what. But that can wait till they return to Akaba. Right now he has to clean and dress Lawrence's wounds. 


End file.
